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cybertron-after-dark · 8 months

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Beast Wars X TFO scenario

Optimus Primal, Cheetos, Black Arachnia, Tarantulas, Ravage, Silverbolt, Ratrap and Dinobot meeting a TFP Predacon reader that just crashlanded into earth as a protoform and the pod scanned the bones of the first creature it could find (that being the dead predacon)

I'm assuming you mean Rampage instead of Ravage given Ravage was kinda barely there. If you did actually mean Ravage, my bad just let me know and I'll do him separately!

-For Optimus, well... Isn't this just prime? They already have enough of a headache fighting Megatron and his merry band of idiots and assholes. And now they have to deal with an ancient Predacon proper? It's not looking good. But, he hasn't completely given up hope. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Or, rather, he's hoping you'll join HIM. Predacon altmode or not, you're still an intelligent creature. Perhaps you can be reasoned with.

-Cheetor is nowhere near as scared as he should be. The Preds just have one extra aft to kick, just so happens that this one is a whole lot bigger. He's not exactly happy about it, but hey, what's complaining about it gonna do?

-for blackarachnia, homegirl is in full scheming mode. She wants an alliance with you yesterday. She's gonna try every tactic in the book to get you on her side so she can stage a coupe. Really, what are the chances ol' Buckethead can take on a wholeass mechanical dragon? You're practically a trump card. A trump card she wants in her hand.

-tarantulas has a thousand different plans for you. Convincing you to join his side, convincing you to stay far far away from that witch blackarachnia, taking you apart to study your mechanics, taking you apart and putting you back together, digging you with a shock collar to make sure you stay loyal to him... So many evil little plans to make.

-rampage is almost comforted by your presence. He sees a kindred spirit in you: a spirit of incredible violence and destruction, not to seek power, but simply for desolation's sake. He wants to commit unspeakable crimes with you.

-silverbolt is considering this his ultimate test as a heroic character. He's always strived to be the perfect knight in shining armor. Now here's his dragon to slay. Of course, if you prove to be reasonable he probably won't lean into the whole slaying thing as much, but he will be at least a little disappointed that he doesn't get the chance to.

-all rattrap can think is just... Nope. Nah. No thanks. Nada. Negative. Negatory. Nein. Not happening. He's gonna pack up his shit and he's gonna scram. Off to live as a vagabond rat. Of course, he'll come back about an hour later, but he REALLY doesn't want to fight a fucking dragon. He likes being alive and not crispy fried, thanks.

-dinobot is in absolute awe. He is having a religious experience seeing you glide through the air. A Predacon... One of the ORIGINAL Predacons. Those his kind were named for... Alive. He wants you on his side so badly. He'll seek you out, try to tell you that the Darksyde's crew has no honor, and that you're better off with the Maximals, backwards as it seems. Then he'll try to fight you because he really really wants a match with what he considers a worthy opponent.

BONUS ROUND:

-Rhinox is so fucking tired, please let this be a nightmare. He's already carrying the Maximals half the time with his chainguns, but they can only do so much against a fucking dragon. He's honestly considering taking off with Rattrap, but unlike Rattrap, if he's at that point it's gonna take a lot longer than an hour for him to change his mind and come back.

-Waspinator would really appreciate it if you would not take part in the tradition of using him as the communal chew toy. Please. Please consider it.

#maccadam #beast wars #optimus primal #cheetor #blackarachnia #tarantulas #rampage #silverbolt #rattrap #dinobot #rhinox #waspinator #sorry this took so long lmao

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sparring-spirals · 3 years

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listen im thinking about caleb and yasha (aka our wonderful #team introvert) today, so, here you go:

because- i don't know. Something about two people coming in burdened with so much grief and guilt that they dont think they'll ever be free of it.

Two people looking across this motley crew of people who are bright and wonderful but also so loud, so full, so complex and chaotic. And seeing another soul who is quieter and maybe awkward and- something there, something shared, even before they know about dead wives or dead families or checkered pasts. I think about these two quiet introverts offering to shave the other with a greatsword or sending a cat to curl around a neck, and a sort of shared commiseration about these bright and beautiful people who are great and a little too loud (people they don't deserve, not with the blood in their past).

Just- Caleb, unwillingly getting more and more attached, almost leaving because what am I doing, what am I doing. Yasha taking days away fron the Nein because she can't quite handle getting close again, because it's almost too much.

And then- months on in, after a soft and sad "i have so many flowers to bring her". After a perplexed "caleb killed his whole family?". These two. Talking about grief and shame and pain and forgiveness. Redemption. These two, looking at each other and knowing the guilt they have in common. Looking at each other and saying "I know the blood and guilt and grief tangled into your past and your present. I see the blood on your hands, and the way it mirrors mine.

I see the way that I can't forgive myself, I can't move on, not yet.

But I am looking at you, and I can forgive your sins, your checkered past. I am looking at you and I have already forgiven you. I am looking at you and I want so badly for you to be happy, for you to be well, and okay.

I have already forgiven you, and so maybe, just maybe, someday I can forgive myself too."

I think about Caleb polymorphing into forms that let him turn off his brain, just a little bit, and the way Yasha never fails to shower them in affection. (Allows herself to be soft, because that is a luxury. Allows herself to be kind and loving and direct it all at Caleb, because that is a gift.)

And Caleb being dazzled by Yasha's immense strength and soft center (i let her carry me), Yasha being endlessly impressed with Caleb's magic and his ferocious love (caleb might want these books!). These two forgiving each other, finding things to love in each other, as that baby step to forgiving themselves.

I am just- so glad, for these two, and the goodbyes in their epilogues, and the sadness, and the hope. Both of them with dirt on their knees and grief laid bare and saying I miss you, and I am still, sorry, and-

I think there is more for me. I think I can do more, and do better, and have better, and I think maybe, maybe, I deserve it.

I think I could make you proud. I think I will.

And these two- these two will do so much good. Lonely and lost children who will get a home, get a guardian angel. Bright and young minds who will be nourished and supported and grow into a world with just a little less darkness, a little more light.

and on quieter nights, two introverts will sit together with purring cats and read some nice books, or perhaps they will repot plants, and sometimes they will talk. About book-smart loved ones, or friends who never stay out of trouble, or maybe just about a new cat brought in from the cold, a new flower growing strong. About forgiveness, and redemption, and growth.

But sometimes, they won't.

They will sit in a little pocket of quiet, (and love, and understanding). And they'll be content.

And that'll be enough. It'll be more than enough.

#critical role #character meta #yasha #caleb widogast #team introvert #team introverts #campaign wrap up #(kind of)#listen my brain Did This today and I couldnt stop it #not featured in here bc i cut it is a thing about the parallels between yasha and caleb being so full of love intertwined with grief #with caleb being set ablaze and (and consumed by) his love and grief and guilt. and yasha as a deep well of it. like a steady rain.#something something water and fire metaphors #anyway! im so happy for these two #im so glad for their stories #meta #AND NOW I CAN ADD THIS TO MY META MASTERPOST HUZZAH #dear god i actually think i also used #introverts unite #for them #back in ye olden days #someday ill fix my tagging system and the universe shall align #you all are being SUPER sweet in the tags and rbs for this. im glad other people love these two too #yasha meta #caleb meta #why. WHY does this not show up in my team introvert tag. grrrrr

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theregoesmylurkerstatus · 3 years

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SPOILERS AND ASSUMPTIONS FOR CAMPAIGN 1!

OKAY, let me start by categorising what spoilers I know as best I can, going (mostly) in chronological order AFAIK:

Clarota betrays them (VERY sad, when I first watched those first 10-ish episodes I was fully behind Keyleth’s ‘trust him’ train)

Vax loses a foot to lava and also his snake belt rip

Kima and Allura are the cool, trustworthy PCs, as is everyone’s favourite, Gilmore, a shopkeep with a black belt in karate

The dragonborn guy’s homeland gets dunked on and then later he dies offscreen

Percy’s sister is alive and betrays them but only kind of? I think? She was held captive by the Briarwoods for years and Percy thought she was dead, but she was blackmailed/brainwashed/tortured?

Vax gets cornered by the Briarwoods alone by accident (classic)

There’s a chick called Ripley who makes guns A Thing for the wider world

Something about a sun tree? It’s a creepy tree? They hallucinate their own corpses on it? Or something?

They probably kill one of the hottie vampires at the end of Percy’s arc, I think the male one? Because the lady vampire shows up later?

Percy dies in his arc and it’s the second res ritual they do, after Pike’s one pre-stream

“Take off the mask, darling.” I still don’t care about romance but I feel obligated to mention that I know that famous line

I also know the equally famous “I thought he’d never leave” bubble bath bit, ah Laura

There’s a CHROMA CONCLAVE attack right at the end of Percy’s arc, somewhere

Rashian is a dragon or something, everyone laughs at Liam for not knowing this. I know nothing else about who the Chroma conclave is (3-5 chromatic dragons??? One of each colour????) or what they want, except Vax levels up in the middle of fighting one and Keyleth yells at one

There are communication earrings. There is also a weird black powder man. Victor?

They actually have a permanent home/keep unlike the Mighty Nein?

Vex dies because Percy didn’t check for traps, this is the start of some deal of Vax’s with the Raven Queen which means he multiclasses into paladin?

Vax can fly, he can fly, he can fly!

Uhhhh there’s a couple cursed swords or something in there lol

Percy sells his soul briefly? Genius move Smart Guy lmao

Feywild??? Somehow????? They meet Artagan and make a deal with him for a doorway, and they spend an episode as cows somewhere in here?

Keyleth has Mom Trauma, I don’t know how much this will feature in the campaign

Vax and Vex’s dad suxxx or something, mother is dead

Scanlan hits on his surprise daughter and everyone screams

They have some kind of year long adventuring group break for some reason?

Keyleth makes a storm on an airship (???) and this is cool. Also she turns into a fire elemental a lot and this is also cool.

There’s a kraken fight? It goes really badly, like LEGENDARILY badly, and ngl I’m kind of looking forward to it

Scanlan #LOSESIT and has his legendary ‘what’s my mother’s name?’ rant, after which he leaves for an undetermined number of episodes and is replaced by Tary

This leads to Grog spelling C-A-T for some reason and this???? Makes people cry???????? Truly something you had to be there for

Pike tries to commission drawings of VM for Tary (who calls Vex “little elf girl” and braces for impact when Laura’s nostrils flare) and this goes Very Wrong in a funny way

Tary’s dad sucks

He writes a book

Some NPC reads said book in campaign 2, hence why I know about it

Grog has an arc to do with the other Goliaths who beat him up for defending Pike’s dad?

When Scanlan comes back he tries to sneak in, Vex chases him and he panics and casts modify memory on Vex, it fails several times, an angsty moment becomes comedic very fast

He is received with Mixed Emotions lmao

Keyleth turns into a goldfish and kills herself, this is both apparently extremely painful and extremely funny

Vax gets disintegrated and dies in a beholder fight (rip)

Gilmore is not a dragon but everyone was fully convinced he was. He also gets bodysnatched or something at some point to freak out VM, but they figure out very quickly it’s not him

Scanlan is Ioun’s chosen? Whatever that means, something to help fight Vecna I think

“It was an honour knowing you” sad! Sad! Sad line! Gilmore doesn’t understand, cheekily responds, and leaves!!!! Liam looks on the verge of tears!!!!!! SAD!!!!!

There are so many true love nat 20s. I don’t know what any of them are except that Pike has one and Ashley looks like she’s about to cry

They win the Vecna fight and Keyleth gets the HDYWDT, Scanlan wanted to save a Wish spell for Vax but couldn’t, so he stays dead

Everyone cries here but at least the rest of the party is okay

Keyleth is the last woman standing and everyone cries at this too

And then Grog uses the deck of many things, spawning two oneshots to clean up his mess

Also somewhere in here Vex steals a broom from a guest (lol)

Assumptions!!!!!

More tears than campaign 2 I think, since there are at least two resurrection rituals we see on screen that I know of

The fights might be more stressful since they’re higher level?

Scanlan is going to be the most sexual and lewd character because he is played by Sam

Vex is going to be the second most sexual and lewd character because she is played by Laura

Vax will still instigate most of the one-on-ones so Liam can have as many heavy conversations as his theatre kid’s heart desires

Keyleth will try and fail to make the group more moral

Pike will not try to be moral at all despite being four feet of blessed armour and adorable hair

I think other characters try to make Percy feel remorse for Murder Reasons, but I suspect he’s not going to feel that guilty (I will likely support him in murderous endeavours unless they are FAR more messed up than I currently believe)

From what I understand Grog is Loveable but not hugely layered or complex, and I know Travis was proud he didn’t cry this campaign. I suspect I may be surprised at the character depth Travis gives him, however.

Keyleth also thinks the gods are overrated and I AGREE

Percy is three feral and eldritch raccoons in a trench coat, held together only by sheer force of will and the fragile shell of a posh accent. No one notices because it’s a really cool accent.

There will be a lot more money/shopping/drinking elements than in campaign 2, since I know Vex is a haggler, Percy is a Lord, and Keyleth is a day-drinker? As are Grog and Scanlan

It will be funny for me to see Taliesin play a smart character and Travis a dumb one, though I know that the whiplash went the other way for most people lmao

Vox Machina will be less team-heavy than the Mighty Nein? I gather they’re more of an ‘individual hero’ makeup than an ‘everyone has support abilities’ makeup

It will be more fast-paced than campaign 2? It seems like a lot of the arcs lead directly into each other, with only the occasional shopping episode break

It feels like it might be less friendship heavy than the Mighty Nein? Like they seem more like ‘we’d die for each other’ pals who otherwise spend all their time trying to draw dicks on each other’s faces

They have a more clear “party leader” than the Mighty Nein, who might be Percy and/or Keyleth

I think most PCs and NPCs are more morally clear cut than in campaign 2, like most towns and people in positions of power are either “cool guy who can pitch in” or “get rid of this abomination immediately” territory

I think my favourite character will be Vex, Percy or Keyleth. I just feel it in my bones.

I think I may also get an extreme soft spot for Grog and Pike, however

My main sources of surprise will be, I think, how things fit together? Like I have no idea WHY they’re in the Feywild, or most other places really, or what any villains’ motivations and backstories and personality traits are, and how they end up fighting any of them in any particular place for any particular reason. I don’t even really know characters’ abilities or literally anything done in any of the fights, aside from “they win/nearly die” and “Scanlan uses Wish and Bigby’s Hand against Vecna”

I assume most plot threads all lead into each other fairly solidly and that they don’t actually seek most of their stuff out?

This assumption will either be fairly right or hilariously wrong, but -- I assume that I already know almost everything important or shocking? I tried really hard to avoid it but being active in campaign 2 meant that over time I got exposed to more and more of campaign 1, and I genuinely believe that I have almost everything down, if not details or order. I don’t think I’ve missed any big moment or impactful arc

Let’s see if I’m right

#critical role #campaign 1 #ramblings #Vox Machina #campaign 1 spoilers #c1e01 #c2e114 #c1e115 #will start rewatch (just first episode) either today or tomorrow

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

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Like Waves Upon An Open Shore

Pieces of this conversation came to me late last night and I couldn't write anything else until I got this out of my system. This is one in a series of pseudo-character study/ missed conversation fics I have on AO3. There's no lifespan angst here, it's more of a meditation on power and potential.

The first to approach him was Caduceus. After they’d imprisoned Ikithon they combined efforts to build back his home. It turns out that this is something Essek’s particular arcane flare is appropriate for. He is learning to accept that his power has limits and that it likely always will. He’s never had to worry about this before, even knowing that one day he will be among the dirt and there he will stay. He’s never had to consider that the flow of time and how it feeds and consumes life is something one might need to control. When it had hit him, when they’d needed the improbable and he could not deliver, he had cried for this man he’d never known save for fond rememberings told by happy words and sad eyes.

He had come to help them and when they needed him most he couldn’t even fail because he never could have started.

However, fixing a roof is practical. Spreading density until large loads of materials are manageable to carry, freezing objects in place as they’re affixed by regular means. He can be useful here and he is. In the first two days he uses all of his strength helping and at the end of the day he’s exhausted. But Caduceus also needed help with the garden. Yasha had shown him some basics and every night he worked with his hands, for the first time of his life bringing new beauty to a scarred earth.

The first night is quiet and he is alone with his thoughts. The eyes are gone and he can properly think again. The new one, Kingsley, sleeps outside but he’s been through a lot and it’s difficult for Essek to look at him knowing he did nothing. It’s difficult to look at Caleb. To look at any of them for the first day.

But he does. He is trying to learn humility, to learn that whatever ugly thing rises in him (guilt for things he can no longer change and selfishly wouldn’t, longing for someone he has no right to feel close to, regret at working with those who had hurt him so badly, sick satisfaction at seeing him stripped of power, the desire to end him then and there) is not always the most important thing. He works alongside the Nein still. He laughs when Jester jokes, he levitates Luc to catch the child’s attention when he’s being particularly mischievous, he attempts another joke which a few of them catch this time. He is there for them now, an imitation of the way they’ve been there for each other.

He digs into the earth in the cool breeze of dusk, removing his gloves now that the sun is fading on his second night there. He’s elected to tend to the graves of an elven family, many of whom have the last name Akhilvarr. He recognizes the surprisingly light footfalls of the firbolg approaching him as he gently holds two flowers, deciding.

“You’re up late.”

He places the plants down softly in front of the hole he’s dug out, brushing dirt from his bare hands, learning to relish the coating of grime, the feeling of having an impact on the world around you. “I don’t really sleep as much as the rest of you.” He hesitates and from the way Caduceus’ eyes bore through him he knows the statement has a second half, “And I feel like I need to be out here.”

He nods and sits, levelling eyes with Essek who’s still on his knees, facing the graves. “How are you feeling?”

The question is so simple but Essek cannot find an answer that is satisfactory, no words he’s ever known can accurately sum the corners of his heart. “It does not matter right now how I feel. Your home was nearly destroyed, you brought someone back from the dead. I dare not burden you with my own troubles.”

“Essek if I may,” he’s learned by now that Caduceus means this to be a precursor to a deep insight and though he is raw he allows him to continue, “there is a difference in being selfless and being harmful. Now I won’t force anything, only you can know if you’re ready to talk, but I never ask a question I don’t want an answer to.”

“I just-” he can feal traitorous heat as tears threaten to spill over his eyelashes and realizes he can’t wipe them away without streaking his face with mud. “All my life I have trained to be powerful. I have learned to manipulate the equations and theory that make up the way we experience the world. I can manipulate the lenses through which we understand the things around us. I have been touted as a prodigy and I couldn’t do anything to affect fate when it mattered to you all most. I am so thankful that you were there, that you and your god were able to fix a great injustice, but this is the last piece of my world shattering. I thought I could protect you all, to be useful in any circumstance and I was wrong.”

He stares into the two flowers and the purple one to the left blows in the wind, while the yellow remains still. He goes to tuck the purple bloom into the dirt and gently packs earth in around it, protecting roots and brushing dirt off leaves. Caduceus allows him to do this and by the time he looks back up at him, there’s a gentles smile at rest on his face. He knows Essek has more to say and he gestures for him to continue as Essek considers which flowers would most like to celebrate the Akhilvarr family.

“It’s funny, almost. I have heard much about the wonders of gardening and never believed a word. But here I am, dirt under my nails, digging in the earth, repairing damage for once in my sorry life, trying to leave somewhere better than I found it.” he finds a red flower with ruffled petals and a taller white flower who’s stem splits off into several tiny flowers, clustered into one sphere, they seem impatient.

“The gardens at my tower were never tended by myself, I had someone else to do that. They were arranged perfectly, planted with aesthetic and design in mind and little else. Looking idly at the beauty of nature is one thing, but this place-” He looks around, mosses give off a light glow as the sun has now disappeared. Slowly but surely fireflies blink to light up the air around them, dancing from leaf to petal. “I keep having the impulse to decide based on aesthetic. It’s difficult to ignore but-”

Caduceus fills in where he has no words, “That’s not your world anymore. I regret to inform you that as soon as we crossed your path your days of neat little boxes and even rows gained an expiry date. The world is so much wider than the machinations of people, we can never predict what is outside of our purview and when we take a step back, relinquish that control, often something more beautiful will spring up. I have tended this garden for many years, longer than the memory of many and I could never have dreamed up the beauty that lives here now. It gets more and more beautiful as each year grows on because the chaos is nurtured and you are learning that.” Caduceus grabs the trowel and begins digging his own hole, “You have come so far Essek and I do not know whether I have the right to feel this way, but I am immensely proud of you. I’m proud for who you are now, and who you are about to become.”

Essek laughs and it sounds like broken glass, “Proud is a funny word to use for someone who has done as much wrong as I.”

“Each decision we make is a point in a network of thousands of other decisions we make connected to webs of the decisions of everyone who has ever had a hand in our lives. If you and everyone around you acts in fear your decisions will be rooted there. Those are the times where we are most lost and I think you are beginning to realize that.”

Every bad decision flows through Essek’s consciousness and he lets them drift by, hands trembling, and the red flower with the beautiful frills slips from his grasp and falls into place in the hole beside the deep purple of the last planted bloom. It’s fate.

“So each bad decision you’ve made has crashed in on the wave of every other bad decision you’ve made, and every bad decision anyone has ever made about you. Now, every beautiful thing you do, every good decision you make will be carried forward by every good decision you’ve made before. It’s a web, it’s a network where everything is connected and you have as much agency now as you did then, every good decision counts towards every good decision you will make in the future and I know there will be many.”

Tears stream freely down his face now and he doesn’t care about the dirt as he wipes them away. “That is-”

“I believe-”

Again, the silver tongued shadowhand has no words, “Thank you Mr. Clay. I think that is more kindness than I know how to give myself. It is difficult to process and accept but I will try my best.”

Caduceus’ hand wanders through the bag of flowers, not even looking as he picks one, a massive flower, bright white and nearly glowing in the moonlight. He sighs contentedly and plants the flower. They work together in companionable silence and Essek relishes the sound of his companion’s breath, the feeling of dirt sticking under his nails, the gentle breeze that blows through fireflies and looking through them up to the stars, once again teeming with the promise of possibility, change, growth.

AO3 Link Here

#critical role #ficlet #caduceus clay #essek thelyss #character study #no lifespan angst #just some light emotional hurt/comfort #critfic #my writing #wreckwrites

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there-are-things-i-dont-forget · 3 years

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SPOILERS FOR CRITICAL ROLE CAMPAIGN 2 BELOW

I just wanted to talk about how much the Mighty Nein and Matt and Critical Role have meant to me over the past few months. I started Campaign 2 in January this year, when I moved out for university and was able to live on my own for the first time. They quite literally saved me, because I cared so much for the setting and the characters and the story that Matt wove and how the players interacted with them that I hung on just to see how it would end.

For me, it was amazing how I could relate the characters to aspects of myself, and how watching them all get their happy endings have made me be able to look forward with a bit more hope.

Let’s start with Beau. I’ll be honest, Marisha’s characters are always the most challenging for me, because of how real they are. Marisha is a stunning actor, incredibly skilled, and Beau was the character I responded to the most as if it was a real person. Everyone else I could enjoy and play into the metagame of watching the players be characters. With Beau and Marisha, it was so real. Moreover, I could see myself reflected in the character (which is probably why I found her so challenging to begin with). Trauma, hurt, being an asshole to other people before they could reject her first. Not the best at compliments, giving in to anger and sarcasm, struggling to connect. And I got to watch her grow, and be accepted, and learn from her mistakes, and be appreciated by who she was, and in the end get vindication on her abusers, and find love and acceptance. Beau’s story is incredibly special to me.

In that same vein is Yasha’s. Manipulated, taken advantage of, forced to do things against her will. Yasha’s story is the one that I can relate to the most, in terms of trauma, and to see her quite literally rip the wings off of her abuser was cathartic in a way that I did not expect, but should have foreseen. And in the end, she also got her happy ending. I’m gonna leave it at that, because any more will make me cry. But I hold her and her character arc so close to my heart.

Liam’s performances are the hardest for me to watch because he feels so much, and I love it. He really gives it all to the scene and it is incredible. Caleb was a character that I overlooked for a bit in the beginning (as Jester had quickly become my favorite), but he quickly climbed as we began to see more of his character and his backstory. Manipulated and groomed by someone he was supposed to be able to trust, forced again to do things against his will, falling in to flashbacks and panic attacks, struggling to rejoin society and interact with others, a love and a passion for learning to a nearly obsessive sense, both for the love of it and for the possibility of gaining the power and strength needed to take back control. Slowly learning to love, to grow, to find friends and see that there can be more to life, that you don’t have to be ruled by your trauma or let it define you, but also still acknowledging it and its effects. But also just how long it takes, and how it can affect you in ways you cannot imagine. He also got his vindication on his abuser, and again, I cried, tears of happiness for him and of grief and hope for me, that one day I might be able to do the same.

Caleb, Yasha, and Beau are the ones I relate to the most because their story is my story, and watching them grow and love means it can happen to me as well. I cannot stress how important and incredible it is for me to realize that. In the more material sense, they all got closure and catharsis against those who hurt them, and they all learned to love again, to open their hearts and let others in again. And that means I can too.

This brings me to the Shadowgast love story. I know this is really controversial for the fandom and I don’t care. For me, their arc was perfectly realistic, and their ending was exactly what I expected for the characters. Finding a kin spirit, learning together, hesitant but trusting in the other’s passion for study at the very least, slowly and naturally growing closer and learning more about each other, revealing more. The betrayal from Essek, the scene on the boat, the slight recoiling on either side, and then learning again, slowly trusting again and teaching each other to forgive themselves, that they were both victims in a sense and that they can take back control and do better, and choose to do better and be better. Slowly healing, and healing together, knowing the worst of each other and choosing to stay but still acknowledging those parts of each other. The scene where they return to the T-Dock and they talk about time travel, and Caleb disintegrates the whole thing? That’s growth, and that’s growing together. And they continue to grow for years, and heal for years, and eventually they end up together, but it takes time. Of course it does. And Essek’s character and this ending really helped me understand some of my own feelings in terms of friendship and romance. Everyone upset that there wasn’t any “on screen” romance or whatever, to me, fundamentally misunderstood the character, especially since his love language does not seem to be physical touch at all (if anything it’s gift giving/acts of service - teleporting the M9 around? Helping Caleb solve the spell? Giving up to dunamis gem to help the M9 get a long rest?). But yeah. Watching characters like that help validate my own experiences in friendship and romance and it was fantastic.

The others I have a bit less in common with, but there’s still stuff to talk about. Veth having her body changed by someone else, something out of her control, feeling alien in this body and struggling to find a sense of self, then finding friends willing to pour everything into helping her be herself again? Fjord learning he is valuable whether or not he has powers/can serve others, that he has worth just as himself, and that that is enough? Those were stories I needed to hear, to know that something like that is possible.

Caduceus growing out of his comfort zone, exploring, learning, but still being a rock for the others (and for the viewers), and "Pain doesn’t make people. It’s love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential. It’s love that saves them."? Molly’s loyalty and “leave every place better than you found it”? Even if I couldn’t relate directly to the characters didn’t mean they didn’t have an impact, and these are things that I will carry with me always.

Jester. I have just about nothing in common with Jester, and I loved it. Her optimism, her jokes, and her art (including the dicks), just the absolute light and joy that was her character was exactly what I needed to get through some of the toughest times of my life. Watching her grow from episode one to episode 141 was insane, to mature but not lose her creativity and her fun for life. She was my reminder that there is good and light and hope in the world, even if sometimes you have to create it for yourself, and that is what kept me going sometimes.

And finally, Matt. I cannot give enough thanks to you for choosing to share this amazing world and this story with us. Your storytelling is what prompted me to finally put my ideas into writing, and now I’m working on my own book. Along with Jester, Essek is one of my favorites, and his story arc and characterization was incredibly important to me. I truly have no words for how Critical Role and especially you, with the care and passion and obvious love for storytelling that you have, have changed my life. And I cannot thank you enough.

Am I sad that the campaign ended? Maybe a little. I will miss these characters. But I truly believe that Matt ended the campaign at the perfect point, and I loved the final episode, it made incredible sense for the end of the characters (maybe a teeny bit more Marion/Babenon? But I digress). I’m sure Campaign 3 will be just as astounding.

My love and thanks to the cast and crew of Critical Role. Rest well knowing you did a fantastic job, and I’ll see you in campaign 3.

PS: I know there’s a lot of tags, I want to make sure I cover all my bases so people don’t get spoiled if they have these tags blocked because I have been spoiled too many times by people who tag badly.

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c-is-for-circinate · 4 years

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One of the major issues with the M9 refusing to ever take or maintain a nemesis for any amount of time is that defining arcs the way we did in Campaign 1--based on the enemy Vox Machina was fighting--doesn’t quite work the same way. Y’all know how I love me some arcs, though, and I think I’ve got a pretty strong sense for how I’d split them up given the chance, at least from where we’re standing now, so hey, why not write it down so I can reference back to it in thirty episodes when I’ve been proven wrong about where the story’s going all over again?

Arc 1: Getting to know you (OR: Okay, I’m with these assholes. Why am I with these assholes?) Episodes 1-25.

Once upon a time when I was young and very cocky, I wrote an enormous overview of this particular arc, and I think most or all of what I said still stands. ‘Nuff said.

Arc 2: Things fall apart (OR: Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. What am I willing to lose?) Episodes 26-30.

It is barely four episodes, it is barely an arc, and if I were trying to divide up the series to talk about it in an end-of-campaign episode I’d include these in the previous set, but narratively, this is its own story.

Arc 3: The cure for everything is salt water (OR: I love them and we’re not talking about it or anything else that matters. What is required of me?) Episodes 31-48, give or take.

I very much consider the pirates arc to be the emotional avoidance and recovery arc. After just barely surviving Shady Creek Run, the team flees the empire entirely and puts to sea. Plot-wise the story is about U’kotoa and snake cults and piracy, but emotionally it’s all about the characters figuring out, individually and collectively, how to try to be okay and how to begin to step away from the people they thought they were in order to take care of each other. I do want to rewatch and write an analysis for this one day, about Jester learning the difference between romance novels and real life and Nott spending two months at sea and Beau learning to wait, and Fjord for maybe the first time in his life learning to say no.

(Interestingly, the arc is where the group really starts to resolve the questions from Arc 1. They’re together because of friendship, and loyalty, and love. Friendship and loyalty and love are worth a lot.)

Arc 4: Xhorhas (OR: Now that the shit has hit the fan it’s time to step up and deal. What do I actually want?) I call this episodes 49-69, again give or take, because there is such a sharp break when they lose Yasha.

These are the episodes when they stop avoiding the world that was going to shit behind them, and discover they have to actually make decisions about it. They confront the idea that Xhorhas might be okay and war is complicated. For the very first time the Mighty Nein has to consider taking sides. This arc starts with the group alone and helpless in Felderwin, moves through their ascendancy as heroes of the Dynasty, and ends with the Nein using their strength and power just carelessly enough to free something horrific. Episode 56 in the Bright Queen’s throne room neither begins nor ends this arc, but it does define it: the entire story here is about the M9 coming face to face with the fact that they actually do have power in the world, and they can do something with it--and maybe they have to.

(Again--they haven’t quite settled anything lingering from Arc 3, but they’re starting to make a pretty good dent on answering the questions of Arc 2. They always knew they weren’t willing to lose each other, but now they’re finding out, for sure, what they are and are not willing to sacrifice on behalf of the rest of the world. They don’t know for sure what their yeses are, but they’re figuring out their nos)

Arc 5: The aasimar in irons (OR: We are desperate and we cannot stop but we have to be stronger now. What can we actually do?) Episodes 70-86.

Just like the Iron Shepherds, this is a desperation arc, but these episodes specifically weren’t about the M9 coming to terms with just how desperate they could get. They already know just how desperate they can get. This arc, following on the discovery in Arc 4 that they have power, is now all about dealing with the consequences and limits of it. They cannot defeat Obann in open battle but they can complete a step in Caduceus’s personal quest, they can face dragons, they can rescue an archmage. Beau is an Expositor and Fjord is a paladin, and they are not always strong but they are not slaves, and at the very very end, Yasha isn’t either.

(I’m the weakest on this one because, following the pattern of the story finally resolving major questions about two arcs after they’re first really essential, we haven’t answered this one yet. It is very, very good at bringing back the question ‘what is required of me?’, though, and presenting us with a team that knows how to take care of each other, that will bury Fjord in magical items and hunt Yasha to the ends of Exandria, that no longer needs to ask what their responsibilities are before they set forth to stop the Angel of Irons. They already know.)

Arc 6: How we live now (OR: So this is who we are, after all that. How do we move forward with ourselves?) Episodes 87-present. (My guess: this arc ends between episode 105 and 110. They’re averaging just under 20 episodes each, so we’ll see. I suspect episode 97 may have been the climax of a lot of things.)

We’re still in the middle of this arc, but here’s what I’m seeing: an entire party confronting the fact that they have changed so very much in the past 90-odd episodes, and now somehow have to figure out who these new selves are and how to keep going. Nott is Veth and desperate to leave, to stay, both and neither. Beau is terrified and self-sabotaging. Caduceus’s family is going home, but he isn’t, not yet. Jester is a devoted acolyte and the founder of a cult and so utterly torn. Fjord still isn’t sure what being a paladin quite means. Yasha is throwing pit fights and eating seafood and struggling through the aftermath of the entire last arc. Caleb has admitted to love. The question here is, has to be, what have I become and what do I even do about it?

(They haven’t entirely resolved what do I want yet, but on the other hand--yes, they have, haven’t they? They want peace, and they’re going to fucking get it. They want each other so badly. They want Essek alive and redeemed and they want Trent Ikithon dead. They want so many, sometimes-contradictory things, but--they know what those things are, now. They’re admitting to them out loud. They just don’t know how to get them yet.)

I don’t think there’s any predicting what major arc might come next, or what big questions it will ask of the characters, but I do think we can start to guess at what questions it might answer. I expect the next five or ten episodes to be full of characters wanting things and not sure what to do about them. I expect the twenty or so episodes after that to be a marathon of outward competence as the party struggles in some brand new direction I can’t even imagine just yet. I expect arc 8 to have real plans for whatever the future actually looks like when all the adventuring is done. I expect to be dead wrong about all of it.

#critical role #driveby meta attack #cr spoilers

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swiftbell · 3 years

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So I had some thoughts on where everyone in the Mighty Nein ended up, and I needed to write them down somewhere, so have my thoughts under the cut!

To me it really felt like all of the characters ended up so beautifully where they were supposed to be.

Beauregard Lionett, the angry teenager who was always ignored, who screamed at the unjust world, and when it didn’t listen to her she beat it instead. That angry lonely Beau helped make the world more just, by telling the stories of people who had been silenced, by being the central piece in making sure those who had taken advantage of others got their due. She told the truth, and the world listened. And instead of having a family that abandoned her because she was a ‘problem’ she has a family that’ll never give her up, that’ll always support her, and love her.

Caduceus Clay, the soft spoken graveyard keeper who was alone in his home, was forced to go into the world, and do things that went against what he stood for because that’s what he had to do. He not only got his family back, he got a new family as well. He got to return home, he got to make things right, and he learned that when they went too far, he had what was needed to stand up, and demand they help fix what they broke - his way.

Caleb Widogast, born with the name Bren Aldric Ermendrud, who had been shaped by pain and fire, who killed his family, only really living to fix the past, wallowing in his guilt, and hiding in fear. Caleb let go of the past, let go of his guilt - and yes some of it is always going to be there, but it’s no longer the crushing weight it once was. He stopped running from his fears, instead he faced them, and beat them with the intellect they had sought to use, and with the family they would never again take away from him. Caleb got to make his parents proud, and is looking to fix the future rather than the past. Shaping it with creativity and love, making sure there would be no one else who had to suffer like he did. And while he didn’t end up with any of the many romantic interests he had, he is healing, and has them by his side still.

Essek Thelyss, who had his own goals and motivations, who started a war just to gain more knowledge, and who put himself first above all else. Aloof and stoic. He learned what it means to belong, what it means to care, favouring the simple pleasures of life, and the value of giving to others. “Caleb, I’m scared”, he says. “Will you do it?” He says “I will help you.”

Fjord Stone, orphan, who never had a home to speak of, and who was so focused on how others saw him that he changed his appearance, his mannerisms, and his voice - just to be someone he looked up to. Who was pulled into servitude for a dark force and given powers he had so badly wanted - but not this way. Fjord got a family, Fjord got a home he can return to whenever he wants, and still got to stay on the sea he loves. He let his tusks grow out, and stopped trying to be someone else, he grew into himself, and when he met his father figure again, that he had, by himself, grown up to be so much like him. And the powers? He threw them away into a river of molten rock, and then turned around to ask the goddess of nature if he may choose to serve her. His choice, not someone else’s.

Jester Lavorre grew up confined to a room, with only her imagination and possibly imaginary friend to keep her company. Always so full of creativity, so full of the love her mother showed her, the little sapphire. Jester whose trickery got her into so much trouble she had to leave her home behind, and flee into a world she had only read about at most, being scared, and fascinated at the same time. She managed to make friends wherever she went, she learned some hard lessons on the way, but in the end she always made it through. Tougher than the world, sweeter than sugar, and cunning like the fey she gave a heart. Jester got her romance she had always wanted, and she got the adventure she had always craved. And through it all, she was always had a good imagination.

Mollymauk Tealeaf - or really, Kingsley Tealeaf now, dug himself out of his own grave with no memories. He was nothing. Empty. He experienced the world, and inspired those around him to be better - even if he wasn’t. He never cared for his past, didn’t want to know it, ran away from it when he could. He was his own self, and the past wasn’t allowed to change that. Then he was taken away. Sudden, unexpected, too soon. He was gone, and then he was someone else, someone who was like him, but in all the wrong ways. Someone who fought the ones he had come to love, and who tried to kill them. Someone who didn’t want to know the past, who didn’t care, but who never got away from it. And then he died, and was someone new again. Not entirely empty this time, but not quite who he had been before. Someone new, someone who accepted that he could be his own person, and honour the past at the same time. Kingsley got what neither Molly nor Lucien got - he got to be alive, and he got to be free to be who he wanted to be.

Nott the Brave, Veth Brenatto, goblin, halfling. Both, neither. Who had lost her husband and son by sacrificing herself, who wasn’t who she used to be, and who was so caught up in her own insecurities she’d rather tune out the entire world with alcohol. Who would insist that she wasn’t smart, that the others were obviously better than her, that she was not brave. Veth kept sacrificing herself - but now she has others to make sure she makes it out alive too. She has a bigger family than ever, and doesn’t have to choose between one or the other, family or adventure, home or the world - she can have both. She gets to invent, to fully use the skills she had always had, but was too insecure to use, and she gave up the veil she put over herself to hide from the world. No longer Nott the Brave, but Veth Brenatto, the Brave.

And Yasha Nydoorin, from the barren wastes, with holes in her memory, with death on her back, and on her hands. Who lost her love not once, but twice - because she had failed. Wandering, trying to find herself, with a grief heavy heart, and who was used by others to commit crimes she never agreed to. Yasha got to break free from those chains weighing her down, to not only walk freely, but to fly in the sky. She found guidance in the storm, and used that to make sure she would never fail those around her again. She got to stop wandering, and instead got a home to fill with flowers, life, and love.

And at the end of the day, they still have each other, and always will. They travel independently, and they grow, but they always have a home, and they make sure to keep in contact, and stay together. As a family. As the Mighty Nein Nine.

#bibbly bobbly talkey talkey stuff #Critical Role #cr 2 #critical role spoilers #long post #I'm not gonna tag all the characters #I wrote this mostly for myself #I needed to write my thoughts down properly #oh man this finale got me good #I loved it #anyways off to bed for me now #I've not had much sleep today XD #got to watch the finale live though so #worth it

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kienava · 3 years

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~~i stayed up til 4 am and wrote beauyasha and i regret nothing~~

When the Nein return to the tower, Beau finally has a chance to read Yasha's poem.

Awkward conversation ensues in a room full of flowers.

_______

how do i wake my spirit cold? [AO3 link]

It had taken Beau a solid three reads to convince herself that this poem was actually real, not just something that her cold-snapped brain had imagined for a fleeting sense of warmth. She’d gone from staring at the words blankly to reading slowly, scrutinizing the angles of each letter, and on her seventh read she’d discovered that it was impossible to tear her eyes off the piece of parchment in her hands. This was now the eighteenth time in a row she’d scanned over these four lines, though she’d long since memorized their contents. At this point, she was less reading a poem and more gazing at a painting. Its beautiful simplicity hit all at once, like a thin blade between the ribs.

Many months ago, Beau might have guessed that Yasha’s handwriting would resemble her intimidating appearance, or maybe even her fighting style: sharp and strong, rough strokes and firm lines. Now, the slight, slanted script on the page came as no surprise, not when Beau had all but reached out and touched the soft edges hidden under layers of rage and anguish - and shawls. Yasha was big on shawls.

Eventually, Beau knew, she would have to put this piece of paper down and stop reading, but her hands and eyes had yet to consider that idea for themselves.

Her breath stayed steady despite her sparking nerves, years of practice kicking in to steady her. After she folded that piece of parchment up, what could she possibly do? Sleep? Not a gods-damned chance. The tower was safe and still, much unlike the thumping in her chest. As skilled as she’d become at controlling her lungs and diaphragm, the ability to keep her heart calm eluded her.

She knew it was a symptom of something that she’d avoided addressing for as long as possible, a creature that would longer allow itself to be pushed off and locked up. Beau had done her best to drown it alive when she’d learned why Yasha pressed her own heart between the pages of a book to desiccate along with torn petals and broken thorns. Loving dead flowers left little room to tend a new garden.

For all Beau’s attempts to do otherwise, she kept coming back to this, perennially doomed to weather the most apocalyptic storms.

In an effort to inspire some new consideration besides poetry, Beau let the paper flutter onto her desk and took to the fighting post. She’d been curious to see how adaptable the tower’s contents really were, and she’d asked Caleb for a variety of weighted staves to train with in this rendition. She grabbed the heaviest one from its mount on the wall. Maybe if she exhausted herself by whaling on the fighting post, she’d be able to fall asleep sometime in the next several hours.

As soon as she started swinging, it was clear that her plan would be fruitless. Her muscles could go on autopilot and run through routines she knew deep in her bones, and she’d built up too much stamina fighting gnolls and ghosts and undead sea monsters to tire herself to the point of genuine exhaustion.

Despite all of her mediation training, she couldn’t shut her brain off. She’d been in research mode for weeks now, mind racing constantly to piece together theories that somehow sounded less and less wild the more their group trekked on. Even while sparring with this helpless post, she exerted more effort willing herself not to sit back down at her desk and scour between the grains of the paper Yasha had given her for clarity and truth.

She made a last-ditch effort at meditating, sitting in the middle of the room with her legs crossed, counting her inhales and exhales. It was the first technique Dairon had taught her, the simplest form of breathwork. The goal was not to control or influence the breath, but to build awareness of one’s natural pace without judgment. At the time, Beau laughed at the possibility that she could go a second without judging (herself or others). But she'd changed so much since then.

She felt herself smile, recalling a conversation from what felt like ages ago.

Thank you for not judging me, Beau.

Have you seen me? Who am I to fucking judge?

I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you a lot.

Was that it? Was that the moment that the harmless flirting had developed its own sense of gravity? That Beau had suddenly found herself tongue-tied during their most superficial conversations, yet secretly hoping for even the briefest moment alone together?

Without intention, her breath had started to line up with the endearingly crooked meter of the poem repeating infinitely in her mind. She inhaled through one line, then emptied her lungs by the end of the next.

Each time she ran through that short stanza again, more questions frayed out like a string splitting endlessly. None of the answers she sought could be found in the library. She’d only need to go one floor down, not two.

All distractions exhausted, Beau considered knocking on someone else’s door instead of seeking the one stamped with lilacs, but she couldn’t come up with a good reason to do so. Veth and Caleb would be together, huddled in front of a cozy fire and having one of those intense conversations meant only for them. Caduceus usually went to sleep early anyway, and he’d eaten a whopping dinner. No way he’d still be up. Fjord had taken up his own meditation practice, and far be it from Beau to interrupt that. Jester - well, that was just a bad idea. If Beau mentioned the poem (and there was very little chance she’d be able to talk about anything else), Jester might just drag her down to Yasha’s room and throw her through right the door.

If Yasha could be brave, so could Beau. In fights, that was the very thing that pushed her to go as hard as she did. She knew that Yasha would be there to pull her out of a giant lobster claw if her risks didn’t pay off. They had each other's backs, always.

Would that still be the case when neither of them held a weapon in their hands?

Only one way to find out.

Beau opened and closed her own door as quietly as possible. Jester had some kind of sixth sense when it came to Beau’s interactions with Yasha, and Beau really didn’t want to explain anything when she wasn’t even entirely sure what was going on herself. She whispered the command word to the lift and sank slowly to the next floor down. She was careful to keep her knock quiet, though it probably wouldn’t wake Caduceus. No promises that Jester wouldn’t somehow hear it, no matter how thick Caleb claimed the walls were.

There was a long beat before Beau heard footsteps. Her stomach flipped - had she woken Yasha up? Normally she relied on some burst of brash confidence to start a conversation, and it had already taken her nearly an hour to build up the courage to step into the hallway and onto the lift. This was too different from the casual check-ins and mid-battle flirting that had happened more often in recent weeks, and Beau forgot every normal greeting she knew when the lilac-emblazoned door swung open.

She only had one thought: “Yasha.”

“Goodnight, Beau,” Yasha said. Quickly, she added, “Not goodnight like ‘goodbye, you should leave.’ Goodnight as in good morning. Like a greeting, I mean.”

“Ha, yeah. Goodnight, I guess,” Beau replied with a little wave. This was going about as badly as possible. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no, no. I was just - well, I cannot read Zemnian, but those books Caleb gave us have very nice covers.”

“Yeah, they’re cool,” Beau said. She had an opening here. Might as well take it. “Speaking of reading...”

Yasha raised her eyebrows.

Beau tried to swallow the dryness in her mouth. It didn’t work. “I checked out your poem.”

“Oh, you did?” Yasha asked.

“You sound surprised.”

“Maybe a little.”

Beau wasn’t sure where to go with that, and all she could come up with was a stilted laugh.

Yasha joined in with her own quiet chuckle. The way she bit her lip, lost in thought, made it clear that she was just as much at a loss for words.

This was a bad idea. Beau hadn’t been thinking straight, obviously, when she’d come down here with a million questions and no plan for how to ask them.

“Okay,” Beau said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. “I guess I’m gonna--”

“Do you want to come in?”

Beau blinked. “What? I mean, sure. Yeah.”

Yasha stepped back from the door to open it wider, and Beau stepped inside the flower-laden room for the first time since Caleb’s magical mansion tour.

The door settled shut behind them, and they were left standing in the middle of the bright, colorful blossoms.

“So,” Yasha started. She didn’t go on.

“Nice plants,” Beau commented, nearly smacking herself across the face for it.

Fortunately, Yasha smiled at that. “Caleb really thought of everything for this place.”

Beau’s mind flashed to the mirror mounted above her bed, and for the first time in many years she had to remind herself to breathe. She was more than getting ahead of herself.

“Anyway,” Yasha said, drawing out the end of the word a little more than normal, “what brings you down to the fifth floor?”

“Ah, just got lost on my way to the kitchen, thought I’d swing by,” Beau tried.

Every time Yasha let out even a small laugh, Beau counted it as a win.

The most concrete question burning in Beau’s skull was rooted in something ugly and frightened. She asked it anyway. “So did Jester put you up to that?”

“It was her idea, yes,” Yasha admitted.

“Oh,” Beau said, not quite catching her voice from cracking.

“I shouldn’t have said that. She only helped because I asked.”

“So it was your idea?”

“Not quite. I don’t think. Not the poem thing, specifically. I told her I wanted to...do something, for you, and that is what she suggested.”

Beau fought against the urge to convince herself that those words could mean anything other than what she wanted to hear. She’d been jumping through flaming mental hoops for weeks, maybe months, trying to talk herself out of this. And then Yasha had the pleasant audacity to write her a poem.

“No one’s ever done that before. For me,” Beau reiterated. She held her hands up. “Hey, I’m no expert, but I thought it was dope.”

“No, you didn’t,” Yasha dismissed.

“No, I did.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

Yasha busied herself by stroking the petal of a nearby flower with her thumb, a small smile creeping in.

“Why’d you write it?” Beau asked.

Yasha’s fingers stilled. Her gaze stayed fixed on the flower in her hand, and her slight smile grew.

“Do you have a favorite flower, Beau?”

There was the answer Beau wanted to give, and then there was the truth. In the dense quiet, the latter won out. “Not really. Kinda wish I did. Do you?”

“I think...” Yasha gently plucked the flower from its stem. “I think they are all my favorite.”

“Really?”

Yasha nodded, cradling the flower in her palm.

It was, quite possibly, the happiest Beau had ever seen her. She suddenly wished that she knew the name of this plant, of every plant in the room. If something could bring Yasha such tranquil joy, it was worth knowing.

“The ones in this room are from all over. I’ve never even heard of some of them,” Yasha said.

“Caleb probably read about a thousand botany books just for this.”

“Probably,” Yasha laughed.

“Come on. You’ve gotta have a favorite,” Beau pushed, in the back of her mind hoping that she could use the information for future reference.

Yasha shook her head. “My book...I was keeping it for Zuala at first, but I think I am also keeping it for myself now. I want to remember the places that I’ve been and the things that happened there. Because those things have brought me here, and I am very happy about that, even if some of what happened was...not so happy. I would not be here, with all of you, without every single one of those flowers.”

She held her hand out, presenting the plucked flower. Beau stared at the five long, carefree, white petals, tinged with a sunshiny yellow at the tips. Slowly, she reached out and was surprised to find the petals were rich and soft like velvet. She couldn’t recall ever seeing it before - maybe it was from Xhorhas.

“And,” Yasha met Beau’s eyes, “finding new favorite flowers to add to my book does not mean I forget the old ones.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Beau agreed.

“This one reminds me a lot of you, actually,” Yasha said, almost whispering to herself.

Beau felt her heart skip. She’d never been given a poem before, and she’d certainly been compared to something so delicate and precious. She wracked her brain for something witty to say, but she’d never been very good at that around Yasha. “It does?” she choked out.

“It grows in the desert,” Yasha explained. “It's very stubborn and strong. We called it Sunsbane. Even with very little water, it survives the hottest days. The buds stay closed for many years, but the plant stays strong. The roots grow deeper than you’d ever guess just from looking at it above the surface. It can take a long time, but when the nights get cool enough, the flowers finally bloom.” She paused, sweeping her hair behind her ear. “You probably didn’t come here to hear so much about plants, though.”

Beau could very well have been in the desert herself at the moment - her mouth went dry again, and she felt like it was about a thousand degrees in that room.

Untrusting of her own ability to form words after that, she lifted the flower from Yasha’s hand, then reached up and tucked its short stem back where Yasha had fixed her hair.

“Hey,” Beau managed.

“Mhm?”

“You can tell me about plants anytime, alright?”

“Alright,” Yasha returned. “Okay.”

Beau retreated a step, realizing how close they’d been standing. “White’s kinda more your color, though. Plus, the yellow really...your eyes, it - works. Looks nice. Um, goodnight.”

There was a strange look on Yasha’s face, like she was thinking too hard.

“What?” Beau risked asking.

“Just that...I didn’t answer your question yet. About the poem.”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s cool, honestly--”

“Beau.” Yasha said her name so softly that Beau had no choice but to stop protesting.

Yasha took the flower from behind her ear and clutched it to her chest. “You should know that I like this flower very much.”

So much of Beau’s old self - the person who’d just tried to leave again - wanted to bolt for the door, but her new self locked down and stood her ground. Inhale, exhale. “I think it likes you, too,” she said weakly.

Yasha waved her hand, still holding onto the flower. “Jester said some things, and I - well, I don’t know. I didn’t think I should hear them from someone else in case they weren’t true or--”

“They are,” Beau jumped in. “I don’t know what she said, exactly, but I can guess.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like I tried not to for a while. And then that became more impossible than it already was. Just like Sunsbane, I guess. Deep roots, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Yasha said suddenly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Not that I - I wasn’t expecting anything. You’ve surprised me in a lot of ways, is all.”

Beau couldn’t handle the guilt on Yasha’s face. It wasn’t her fault, everything that had happened to her, to them. Beau would’ve waited a thousand days in the desert if it meant letting Yasha heal and find herself.

The gap between them had shrunk again, somehow, but it was more unbearable than ever. It felt like every time they got closer by half, always lessening the space but never quite meeting. But Beau was very good at breaking things, and, for once, she could break something for good. Her palm met Yasha’s cheek, fingertips curling around a small braid hanging loosely.

“You said those flowers are pretty damn patient, right?” Beau said.

Yasha nodded almost imperceptibly, like she was afraid Beau’s hand would pull back.

“Then I think you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Still.”

“Well,” with much less confidence than she’d hoped for, Beau asked, “you gonna kiss me or what?”

Yasha’s eyes closed for a moment, her expression neutral save for the slight crease between her brows and the subtle part of her lips. When her eyes opened again, her gaze was angled down slightly, plotting a trajectory that Beau had hardly dared to dream of.

“You’re sure?” Yasha said softly.

Beau’s answer was no more than a breath of a laugh.

Yasha went on. “I just want to make sure that you are sure. I’m very sure, at this point, but that doesn’t mean that you have to be--”

Beau cut her off as gently as possible.

For a moment, Beau’s mind went blissfully blank.

Then it hit her. She was kissing Yasha.

It started soft - not tentative, but quiet.

And then, miracle of miracles, Yasha was kissing her back, and she was much less patient. She was lightning and thunder striking at once, a storm raw and deafening in its power. Beau wondered when her knees would give out under the sheer weight of it - until solid arms circled around her waist and pulled her in.

Desperate to hold onto something, Beau’s fingers wound into Yasha’s hair. Her other hand was trapped just below Yasha’s collarbone, grasping tighter until blunt nails scraped past a cloth edge and found skin.

Maybe Beau did have a favorite flower, after all.

***

#beauyasha #beauyasha fic #beauyasha fluff #i haven't really written for them but i decided to fix that #my writing

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peach-the-owl · 3 years

Note

with valentine's day coming, think Jester, Beau and Yasha help child reader with their valentine?

Ahh, Valentine's Day, a day of gettting free chocolates from people… oh and love too I guess 😆

I took the basics of the ask, but also changed it around a bit… So I’m not sure how this’ll turn out, Valentine’s Day has always been a little different for me. This is gonna be interesting… Sorry if this ends up turning out badly 😖

Sweet Valentine

Child of the Nein (Jester, Beau, Yasha & Child!Reader)

Jester

"Hey, mama?" You say, making your way over to Jester with an important question in mind. Jester looks over at you, still getting used to the idea that you now refer to her sometimes as mama. She kneels down to match your height.

"What can I do for you?" She asks with a smile and boops your nose getting a giggle out of you.

"Ummm… what do you think would be fun to do with a valentine?" You ask, while swinging your arms from side to side. Jester taps on her chin in thought for a moment.

"Well, getting sweets would be a nice start, oh and looking at their favourite shops or maybe get them a gift they really like…" she starts rambling off different ideas, it eventually turned to really weird stuff that sounded like it was more from a storybook. "… and then he’d take you in his arms and carries you across a field and it’s so romantic. Oh Oskar~." Jester stares off in her little daydream.

"Oskar? That's the character from the book you say I’m too little to read yet, right?" You ask, having gotten lost along the way, this breaks Jester out of her daydream and she gives a faint blush while scratching the back of her neck apologetically.

"That’s right, so maybe don’t do all that, but giving someone treats or little gifts to show you care is always good. Who is your valentine anyways?" Jester gives you a curious look.

"That’s my little secret, but I don’t even know if they can or want to be." You fiddle with your fingers a little.

"Awww," Jester places her hands on your cheeks and lifts your head up so you can look at her. "Whoever you ask is going to be very luck, and as long as you have lots of fun that’s what really matters." You smile at her and nod in understanding. "I have to go now, my valentine promised a walk around town. You have fun and don’t get lost." Jester parts ways with you with a smile and a wave.

After a moment or two you got everything together that you needed and bow your head in prayer hoping this works, the sense of a second presents makes you open your eyes and you look over at the cloaked figure that now stood in the room with you.

"What can I do for you?" The Traveler asks simply.

"Will you be my valentine?" You ask excitedly holding up your handmade card to him. He goes stiff for a moment but slowly, carefully takes the card from your hands noticing the small mistake of it saying Happy Valentime rather then Valentine. He stays silent and just stares from you to the card.

"I- that’s not really how this works?" He says slowly, trying to think through each of his words. Your smile drops a little.

"Oh…" You sigh. "I get it, you already have a lot of people who adore you and probably are really busy, I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend some time with you like Jester has." You turn to leave.

"Wait." You pause and look back at him. "I didn’t say no." Once again he speaks slowly, working out each word individually as if to convince himself of something. You don’t really notice as your eyes light up again in excitment.

"Really! So you will?!" You bounce on your feet in anticipation. He balls his hand into a fist and brings it close to his lips in an unsure gesture, again you being too excited to really take notice of it.

"On two conditions." He finally says. You stop bouncing in place and stare at him. "Firstly, you cannot tell another soul about this." He places a finger to his lips with a quiet shushing sound you repeat the action with an eager nod in agreement, while trying to hold in a giggle. "Secondly," he pauses a moment and you see a devious smirk cross his features. "I go, if there’s promise of delightful mischief." Again you give an eager nod. "Perfect, now I need you to close your eyes for a moment." You quickly slap your hands over your face to cover your eyes, there’s a faint whooshing sound and when you remove your hands you see a man with wild red hair and bright green eyes in place of the Traveler.

"Whoa!" You stare in amazement. "You look really cool Traveler." He gives a small chuckle.

"We can’t have you calling me that outside, remember this is just between you and me. So for today and today only you may refer to me as Artagan." You give a small happy squeal and practically drag the man along with you.

The day went by very well, the two of you pulling various pranks on different couples in the streets, the added fact that you had your deity helping you cause chaos wherever you went was a delightful bonus. It wasn’t like you were causing major harm, some of your pranks even managed to bring a few couples closer together. Eventually you had to return to the inn you were staying at, having to sneak around as to not get caught by any anger couples or towns guard.

"That was so much fun! Did you see the look on that one couples face when they discovered their chocolate was spicy?" You laugh at the memory.

"Or the fellow who thought our fake wall was real." Artagan recalled. "Ah, best fun I’ve had in a while."

"I’m glad you agreed to be my valentine, this was great." You give him a large smile, he hums in responce.

"Well, I should take my leave, there’s a lot I have to do." He says a bit apprehensively, and in just a blink of an eye he’s gone before you can give a quick farewell. A moment later Jester enters the room.

"Sooo… did you have a good day?" She asks you. You smile and nod explaining some of the things you did, making sure not to reveal too much like you'd promised. "That sounds like a fun day to me, I’m sure the Traveler would be proud."

If only she knew.

Beau

You march into the tavern and sit down at one of the tables in a small huff, Beau taking quick notice takes a seat next to you.

"What’s wrong?" She gives you a curious side look.

"Is it normal for someone to be mean to the person they like?" You ask. Beau stares at you then gives a sigh.

"I want to say no, but there are people out there who are like that. But that doesn’t mean that they should."

"Ok, I wasn’t sure, because I ran into someone I know from my hometown and they were being a total jerk to me." You look away from her sheepishly.

"Alright tell me what happened." She says, a bit of a protective tone in her voice. You begin your tale…

While everyone else was busy doing their own thing or spending time with their valentine you took a walk around the town, you actually knew the area decently enough because it wasn’t too far from where you used to live, a day and a half's journey if everything went smoothly.

"Hey! I know you!" You hear an awfully familiar voice shout in your direction making your eye twich but for some reason you feel frozen in place. The kid was about your age, maybe a year older at most. Their snarky, judgemental gaze used to make you feel like you were powerless against them and while deep down you knew you weren’t anymore that stare made you revert back to thinking you were. They give you a smirk. "I knew I recognized a nerd when I saw one. You remember me!?"

"Hi… Layn (tried to make it gender neutral, idk)." You greet through gritted teeth.

"Man it’s been a while since I saw your gross face, and it looks even worse now." They laugh pointing at the smudges of dirt you had yet to clean off.

"Yeah it has been a while hasn’t it. I’m not the same kid you think you can just push around anymore." You huff crossing your arms. They give you a teasing look and start to aggressively jab at you, you use your reflexes to block most of them all while telling them to stop, they don’t. You get fed up to the point that you grab their arm and throw them over your shoulder slamming them to the ground and give them a hard look. They stare up at you in shock.

"Why did you do that?" They seemed genuinely upset and curious.

"Because you wouldn’t stop, I told you I’m not the same kid you can just tease anymore!" You fume.

"How else was I supposed to get your attention." You stare at them confused. They carefully pick themselves off the ground. "You always had your face in a book or something when our parents met with each other, I didn’t know how else to get your attention."

"You could’ve tried talking to me." You say matter-of-factly.

"And risk the cooties? No way!" You just stare at them. "Anyways, since no one else will be asking you… I was wondering if you’d like to be my valentine?" They give you and expectant look…

"So what did you do?" Beau raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

"You remember what you once told me about dealing with jerks?" Beau nods, she'd used another word to describe it but you weren’t sure if you could say it aloud yourself.

"Yeah, I told you if they absolutely deserve it, to sock 'em in the face… wait." She turns to face you fully, you give an embarrassed smile along with a light blush.

"I think I broke their nose." You say, scratching the back of your neck. Beau snorts a bit, trying not to burst into laughter, her fist banging against the table. It takes her a bit to finally calm herself down and clears her throat.

"So first you throw them, then you actually punch them. It’s probably good their parents weren’t around to see that."

"Its just that they’ve always been so rude to me, before I knew you I never knew what to do or how to defend myself. Now they suddenly say they like me and expect me to forgive everything they’ve done just like that?! Not happening! I don’t care if they like me, they should’ve treated me nicer then." You rant a bit, getting yourself worked up again. Beau places a hand on your shoulder making you look at her.

"You know what? You’re absolutely correct. People shouldn’t treat you like shiii– poorly if they like you, that’s basically abuse. Now while I’m not sure if punching them will solve the problem entirely, though I’m sure it would’ve been hilarious to see, I think you still made the right choice. I’m proud of you." She gives you a smile and you return one of your own.

Yasha

You sit deep in thought about what to do today, you weren’t sure how you were going to find someone to love and spend the whole day with so you decided to ask Yasha, she might know the answer.

"How do I find love?" You get straight to the point once you see her, Yasha nearly chokes on her drink at your question.

"What?" She looks at you shocked.

"You know a valentine or something, how do I find one of those?" She blinks a bit then give a small chuckle.

"That uhhh, isn’t really how it works."

"Then how does it work?" Yasha goes quiet, now having to figure out how she can explain this to you.

"Ummm… well it’s not just about… hmm… a valentine is someone you want to show you really care about and appreciate them, it doesn’t just have to be about holding hands or kisses." Yasha explains as best she can (I feel that).

"Oh! Okay, I think I get it." You nod. Yasha gives you a smile and pats your head before heading off elsewhere, probably with her own valentine, who knows. You once again go deep into thought trying to figure out who you wanted to show your appreciation to, an idea comes to mind and you begin your search. You stand in front of a door and give a soft knock.

"You can come in." You hear their muffled voice through the door. You open and shuffle through the door suddenly feeling a bit nervous and embarrassed.

"Hey Caduceus, I was, uhhh, wondering if you’d like to be my, ummm… my valentine today?" He looks at you, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Yasha told me that valentines could be people who we appreciate a lot and I, umm, I really appreciate everything you do for us. So I, uhh, I thought maybe you’d like to be my valentine and we could do something nice?" Each word you spoke made your face turn more and more red out of embarrassment. Caduceus just gives you a calm smile and a small chuckle.

"I see no harm in that, it sounds nice. What did you have in mind?" You stare at him a moment, slightly surprised he agreed.

"Oh! Well I saw this little shop that sells tea and biscuits, if you like that is… sorry I’m not very good at this." You scratch at your head and look away a little sheepishly.

"There’s no need to be sorry, I think that's a good idea." You give him a small smile and the two of you head out to the little shop. You did your best to make this a nice little day, but for you everything never really seemed to work out properly, Caduceus having to purchase the treats from the shop as you didn’t really have any money of your own. The streets were a little crowded today too, making you come to realize you may have slight claustrophobia as the large number of people made you very uncomfortable and nervous.

"I’m sorry, I can’t do this! I’ve ruined everything!" You run off crying back to the inn and hole yourself up in your assigned room. There’s a soft knocking at the door after a while. You don’t say anything, you already knew it was Caduceus who was knocking so you try to squeeze yourself into a ball and disappear. The door creaks open after a minute of you staying silent, the bed dipping a little from the new weight on it. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there with you in a calm silence. Eventually you uncurl yourself from a ball and look up at him, he gives you a kind smile. "I’m really sorry, I wanted to let you have a nice day to show my appreciation for you, but instead I ruined it and you still did everything." You pout.

"I don’t think you ruined anything, I enjoyed myself actually. The very idea that you wanted to do something nice I think is appreciation enough for me." You wipe your eyes and look back at him again, a small smile starting to form.

"Is it really?" You ask curiously, he gives you a nod in responce. "Ok… well since we still have a bag of treats, can we share them here? I don’t really want to go outside right now."

"Sure thing." He pulls out the purchased sweets and the two of you happily share them. Come the evening Yasha finally comes back from wherever she had disappeared to.

"Did you have a good day?" She asks. You nod and retell her the events of your day, she smiles as you finish your story. "I’m glad it worked out for you in the end."

"Me too. So how was your day?" It was your turn to ask and listen as Yasha tells you about what she did.

Bonus: (Bad pickup lines I made up for each kid)

Jester: I'd be your partner in crime any time Valentine

Nott: I can’t give you my heart Valentine… because you already stole it

Caleb: Let’s dance together Valentine, better then any colour ever could

Caduceus: I'd make a thousand flower crowns for you or with you Valentine

Fjord: I’ll be your knight whenever you need me Valentine

Beau: If anyone treats you badly Valentine, just tell me where to hit them

Yasha: If I could, I’d fly with you to a beautiful field, but they wouldn’t be as beautiful as you Valentine

Molly: Let me serenade you with any song you like Valentine, anytime, anywhere

Again I’m very sorry if this was bad 😣

#critical role #critical role & reader #mighty nein #the mighty nein #mighty nein & reader #jester lavorre #jester & reader #beauregard lionett #beauregard & reader #yasha nydoorin #yasha & reader #nothing romantic here

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flurry-of-beaus-pop-pop · 3 years

Text

Critical Role 2x70 Thoughts:

Marisha’s last note from last episode being “fuckin’ Yasha”. Little does she know, she will make a very similar note later on for entirely different reasons 😂

Oop, they’re all disagreeing, Yasha truly was the glue that held them together

Nott and his daggers 👀 I suppose a dagger that locks things is better than the cursed dagger later on

When in doubt about whether or not to tell the Bright Queen about the laughing hand... tell her from a distance so she can’t immediately punish you

So much paranoia “should we warn the town?” “no, we don’t want to create panic” - the Nein are immediately suspicious even though this seems like a rationale response.

Poor Jester... she wants to believe so badly that Yasha is the person that they’ve known for all these months, that she wasn’t playing them and that she’s just being controlled by someone who is not a good person

Caduceus... calm yo tits. Even if Obann, Yasha, and The Laughing Hand were coming to Bazzoxan, maybe running away isn’t the best choice, maybe stay and I don’t know, help?

Beau telling Jester that she’s taking what happened to Yasha just as bad, but that she’s just better at hiding it because of her past and abandonment issues. Beau is feeling abandoned by someone that she has grown to care about deeply and is responding with anger. These poor babies and losing their giant, badass barbarian

Jester and The Traveler deciding to hold TravelerCon in a volcano. Not the greatest choice 😂

The Traveler dropping some wisdom on Jester that without sadness, she can’t enjoy the beauty. And reassuring her that people (Stormlord?) are watching over Yasha

Beau listening for thunder. Fucking breaking my heart. She just needs Yasha back

Caduceus taking the lead in talking to the Bright Queen? Whyyyyyy

Female Scourger? Astrid?

OMG it’s Astrid

Oop just kidding it isn’t Astrid

Yay, Yeza and Nott and Luc are going to be reunited

Stone 👀 Fjord Stone 👀

Don’t send to Dairon, y’all don’t need their help, you’re more than capable.

Caleb struggling a little bit

Dammit, there’s Dairon

#Critical role #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #beauyasha #jester lavorre #the travler #fjord stone #caduceus clay #caleb widogast #nott the brave #yeza brenatto #luc brenatto #the bright queen #essek theyless #the mighty nein #critical role 2x70

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seafleece · 4 years

Text

he still hasn’t told them about everything. is not even sure it would be possible.

there is time, yet— somehow, he thinks he may be a passenger of the mighty nein’s funny little ship for a while longer— but he is afraid. not afraid that they will hurt him for it— though he has not been on the blunt end of yasha’s strength, before, and the specter of it looms terrifying up before him like never before, he knows she has a sword that is meant to kill mages— no, he is afraid in the way he’s afraid to look into their eyes. afraid to have to tell of the things he has done— worse than they know, than they can even imagine— and have to see how it hurts them up close.

that was the easy part about this, that in the end he’d be away from them, that they’d at least have the luxury of hating him.

you know what’s funny is, when they’d left the last time, he’d thought he’d never see them again. not like this, at least.

he knows them, now— and gods, for something that should feel so bad, it still gets at something so buried and hopeful in him— and of course they were going to find him out, of course a simple illusion wouldn’t be enough for them. of course they’re keeping an eye out for every move the assembly makes— and he is, too, he wants to say, he doesn’t trust the assembly a single iota more than they do. he even saw frumpkin. knew it was over the moment he saw that funny little fey disappearing behind a barrel in the deck of the assembly’s ship. avoiding them at the party was a delay at best, selfish at worst.

and, well, hasn’t everything he’s done in the past years, the past decades, been selfish?

he thought the next time he’d see them would be when they inevitably ended up fighting the assembly over the other beacon, a fight they’d lose. a fight he would have to make them lose.

he hasn’t cried in a long time— that, among so many other things, was trained from him so young, too young (in another world, he thinks, he’s sitting in the plush office of one of den olios’s councillors, and the soft-faced councillor is asking him does he think his problems have anything to do with how the umavi never held him as a child?)— but he cried after they left, sat in his study over the papers he and caleb had scribbled the spell’s early parts out on and sobbed like he hadn’t since he learned about his father.

(in that world with the councillor, their face pinches into a look of practiced sincerity and they say ah, so there was an absence of both parental figures. there is something comforting about it, recognizing patterns in himself. reasons, when in looking for reasons he so often comes up lacking.)

so dangerous can be trust, he thinks, that it can make things previously known, previous truths, unrecognizable. caleb took off the manacles from earlier— and gods, the pain, jester healed him some but caleb had been looking at him when he put them on, had looked him in the eyes he hadn’t convinced himself to change the color of, and hurt him so badly he almost crumpled to his knees, almost lost consciousness.

it is fair, he supposes. it is the same pain he has caused them. has caused so many, and so many there were that would not have been able to endure it. weak as he is, there are those who are weaker.

(“you are one of us, you know,” caleb says, “whether you have meant to become so or not. we do not choose the people who care about us.”

no, essek thinks, we do not. he thinks of the umavi— his mother, he thinks of his mother, is allowed to call her that in his own mind— the warmth he wished would fill her eyes.

“there is nothing sadder than wishing someone cares for you more than they do,” he continues, like he can hear it, see what plays behind essek’s eyes. the feeling of caleb’s lips pressed to his forehead, the funny pressure of it, still lingers.

“you do not have to feel it again. we care for you. please let us. may i see your wrists?”)

they’ve put another set on him— the fact that they just carry these things around is startling, to say the least, but this must be justification enough. he can see a loose strand where, he imagines, caleb has wound silver thread around and around the frame of the door. it is not unfamiliar magic. and he is sorry— really is— that they don’t trust him. that he made that an impossibility, before they even met.

he lies back in the bed of the little room they’ve given him— it’s clean, he imagines, for a ship, no dripping water or cloying mold. they are perhaps the least vindictive people he has ever met, and he wants to believe so badly that this is not punishment. they want him to stay, and he wants to want to. wants to think of nothing else than being with them, to be together and simply ignore why it should be that they are.

this meeting would not take place, were it not for you, he thinks. there would be no need. if the beacon is a god, you have earned its ire like none before. enemies die on the battlefield, but traitors hang.

he goes to move his arms, to grab at the wooden frame of the bed or dig his fingers into his forearms or something else frenzied, and the chain of the manacles stops him. somehow, it is comforting.

sometimes, he thinks, friends keep you from doing things because they would hurt you. he is a traitor, he is powerful and dangerous and there is blood on his hands, but the traitor essek thelyss sits in what should be a prison and thinks of veth brenatto— whose husband he saw kept in chains— calling essek one of them. he thinks of caleb, pleading, he thinks of jester pressing her magic into him with sad, enormous eyes, and sleep finds him.

in the dream that he has, that night— he has not dreamed in so long, almost thought he had forgotten how— he is still bound, by the hands and feet and by a long chain pulling at his neck. there is water, all around, conjured perhaps by the tertiary rock of the ship with the waves, and it drags him down, towards depths he cannot see. he knows of the quasi-deity fjord had been bound to, wonders if this is its influence, dreaming so close to its domain, to one of its chosen, but as the chain pulls at his throat he can see it attached to another.

a few feet away, caleb is there, the end of the chain at his neck, and he looks right into essek’s eyes as they’re pulled closer together. we are the same, he hears, though caleb does not speak. if damned, then damned together, and they thrash in the water and cling to one another.

the water is freezing and burning, somehow, endlessly dark, and stretching forever, and yet, as long as they move, they do not drown.

#oof #OOF #my writing #critical role #cr spoilers #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #the mighty nein #jester lavorre #essek...... my dear.....#i’ve been thinking about the ‘there is nothing sadder than wishing people cared for you’#line for a while #ask to tag

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

Note

Can we get more of the “beau feels powerless/dragon didn’t give anything” story? I wanna know what zolly’s opinion on the matter was lol.

the dragon is coming with them, apparently. the trek down the mountainside takes much of the morning—would have taken longer but about an hour to the base, they had heard the cacophony of ice and stone and fury as zoelfir tore apart the remainder of what had been their nest, and had become their prison. the avalanche that slid and tumbled and tore down the mountain as zolly did so had caleb and jester leaping from the rocks as immense eagles, their friends clutched in each claw.

the tressveld forest clings tight to the base of the mountain, dense and dark and from the air is looks like a skirt of green rippling out in hills and vales from the ivory peaks. caleb and jester set down on the edge, a wary eye turned to the mountain in case the avalanche follows them so far.

‘so...back to xhorhaus?’

caleb screeches.

‘dude, shut the fuck up. do you want every dire wolf from miles around to come try and eat us?’

caleb shuffles, bobs his head and taps her hard on the skull. tries to, anyway. beau ducks away, raps a knuckle on his beak.

‘are we teleporting or what?’

‘well if you had stayed to talk with zolly last night,’ nott begins, sounding for all the world like she’s half a second from adding something like, this is your own fault, beauregard, if you had been listening you’d know...

beau scowls hard. ‘it’s a yes or a fucking no, nott.’

‘a fucking no? the no has to be fucking?’

‘nott,’

‘we’re waiting for zolly,’ she finally concedes. ‘caleb is taking us to nicodranas.’

beau’s eyes slide across to jester on instinct; it’s hard to tell as an eagle whether she’s happy about that, though beau is pretty sure she would be. it’s been a few weeks, maybe a month, since they’ve managed to make their way to the coast and she knows jester has been missing her mama.

‘oh.’

a large dark eye rolls to looks at beau very quickly before the eagle turns her attention back to the mountain. powerful muscles in the legs and wings bunch and jester-eagle lifts into the air, buffeting pine needles and debris into everyone’s faces as she flies up, circles around where they are. after a moment, they see what the eagle eyes had seen first—the awesome form of a silver dragon emerging from the fog clouds above and winding its way toward them.

caleb drops his form, pulling yasha and fjord aside to clear a large enough space for his circle. the ground is frozen almost solid and they have to work diligently for the few minutes it takes for zoelfir to land a hundred or so feet from them and transform.

the dragon has taken the same form—a short, darker skinned woman with silver hair—and waves cheerfully when they emerge from the treeline. they’re limping slightly; no injury apparent but perhaps exhaustion, perhaps unused to exertion after so long being bound.

‘is this someone you know?’ beau asks when zolly is closer.

‘hmm? this?’ the dragon gestures toward their form. ‘yes, indeed! excellent question, keen mind. yes, she was a friend of mine oh, some years back now.’

‘what’d she do?’

‘do?’ zolly asks, forehead crinkling into many lines.

‘y’know. was she a knight or like a wizard or something?’

‘she made the most exquisite tapestries.’ zolly’s eyes grow distant, taking on a faint sheen as their concentration slips. ‘i had one commissioned but i was...indisposed before i could collect it.’

‘indisposed?’ fjord asks. he wipes a drop of sweat from his forehead, which crackles like ice in the chilly morning.

‘they were locked up,’ beau says. jerks their chin toward the mountain.

zolly grimaces. ‘indeed. well, onto the coast, yes?’

‘take the first portal outta here, hey? drown your sorrows at the sea side.’

‘what is it called now?’ zolly continues, though their eyes drift over to beau. she’d said it as a snide nothing comment, but dragons must have keen hearing because that look certainly says that they heard. ‘i’d dearly love to look at that map again, if i might.’

‘menagerie coast,’ fjord says with a nod, pulling their map case from the bag of holding. ‘nicodranas is—yasha, would you?’

‘oh yah, sure.’

fjord holds the map up flat against yasha’s back, taps his finger against nicodranas. ‘and port domali you asked about, that’s here,’

‘i see, i see, yes,’

‘twelve seconds until completion,’ caleb announces. jester giggles. as though she hadn’t, he continues in a quick, clear monotone. ‘remember to enter the teleportation circle as quickly as possible. all items should be carried on your person. do not run.’

‘why not?’

caleb’s hand, white with chalk, hovers over the final line. he cuts a quick look up to fjord and smiles. ‘you are welcome to try, if you wish,’ he says.

fjord leans sideways, says in a loud whisper, ‘that’s a dare, right?’

‘for sure.’

‘that’s a bad thing, coming from caleb?’

‘for sure.’

‘thought so.’

fjord runs through the circle. when beau emerges, she finds him clutching his face, nose bleeding freely.

‘there’th a wall,’ he tells beau. ‘don’t run.’

zoelfir knows yussa, as it turns out. they talk for a night, the mighty nein as yussa’s guest, and later in the night when restlessness strikes her, beau overhears quiet apologies between the regal elf and the dragon. minor explanations but mostly the clinking of tea cups in saucers and the crackling of fire.

beau hesitates between the stairs and the landing, wondering how bad it would be to eavesdrop on these people. but curiosity gnaws at her gut and so she slinks forward to the doorway and presses her back to the wall to listen.

‘—your fault, yusandrin. i never expected you to come looking for me after how we parted,’

‘that? a minor squabble?’

‘then what,’

‘there was a war, zoelfir,’ yussa says, and the voice sounds much older and richer than it ever has with the nein. he sounds like someone who has lived for centuries and not only seen them all unfold but lived in them, truly. ‘there was a war and i called upon you and you didn’t come. now i understand, you had already been trapped but then...’

‘you didn’t come looking for me because i abandoned you first.’

‘you always said it was my ugliest trait,’

‘well, you had to have one, my dear.’

a companionable laugh pulls from yussa, almost reluctantly, or as though he had nearly forgotten how. then,

‘if you don’t come in, little snoop,’ zoelfir says, tone bright and jovial as the glint off silver coins, ‘i shall freeze you where you stand.’

beau’s heart slams in her chest. she considers for a moment retreating up the steps but caught is caught. she steps around the arch, lie on the tip of her tongue—but zoelfir is smiling and yussa just sighs and clicks his fingers and summons a third chair at the fireside.

‘do not tell anyone i know zoelfir,’ is all yussa says. ‘my reputation would never recover.’

‘your reputation would improve and you know it, you bore. beauregard,’ they say, turning that smile on her. ‘couldn’t sleep?’

‘something like that.’

zoelfir casts their attention down to the pack at her side. ‘headed out already?’

beau shifts. sets it down behind the seat. ‘something like that.’

‘mysterious,’ the dragon says, and the small hissing laugh that accompanies their comment isn’t patronising or mocking. just amused.

it sucks. beau wants so badly to hate this dragon, this being who put her mediocrity so clearly into view. but she can’t. they’re fascinating, and effortlessly charming in a way that comes with power and age and a deep and powerful kindness despite what could easily have been centuries of torment.

‘where are you headed?’ yussa asks, floating a cup over to her and looking somewhat impatiently toward his summoned chair.

beau sits. takes the cup. ‘port domali. there’s an archive there and i can see what’s up, or head on to zadash from there maybe. maybe the capital.’

‘no real plans then?’

‘don’t pry, yusandrin.’

‘it’s my business to pry.’ yussa arches a brow. ‘well? i gather from your creeping about my tower in the middle of the night while the rest of your fellows sleep that this is an... unsanctioned journey?’

‘i wouldn’t call it creeping.’

‘yes, let’s focus on the most minor of details, shall we?’ yussa tone doesn’t shift from sharp, cool, but somehow beau knows it’s close to teasing for him. she still allows herself to bristle.

‘i don’t have to tell you shit. we rescued your friend when you couldn’t be assed to check up on them for, what, three hundred fucking years? maybe ask them a few questions before you go poking at me.’

yussa’s lips press flat and white in his bronzed face for a moment, just long enough for beau to think oh shit, and then the moment has passed. yussa turns away from her.

beau watches his eyes. watches him almost start at the glimpse of zoelfir to his right, as though for a split second he thought—feared?—he had made them up. imagined their reunion. yussa’s eyes skate around the round face, linger on the flow of silver hair.

‘you are headed to port domali, are you not?’

zolly smiles. sharp teeth and all. ‘i am. maybe i’ll tag along with the good archivist here,’

‘expositor.’

zoelfir blinks. ‘expositor. how does that sound? yussa can magic us to his nest in that port and we can have a little wander, a little explore, and,’

‘why?’

‘hm?’

‘why would you wanna come with me? is there something in the library you want?’

zoelfir blinks again. dark eyes revert to the dragons natural mercurial silver. ‘my dear, i’m a traveller. i said that the first time we spoke. i want to see everything—it’s all changed, it’s all new again.’ they chuckle. ‘a silver lining.’

‘but why me? you’ll see all kinds of stuff with the others.’

zoelfir shakes their head. ‘you and i aren’t done yet.’

‘done?’

‘i gave the others a boon,’ zoelfir tells her as if she doesn’t know that already, as if it hasn’t been giving her heartburn or the emotional equivalent. to the side, yussa—always so put together, so unshakeable—splutters on his tea. boons? zoelfir ignores him. ‘my debt to them is paid. my debt to you is not.’

‘your...debt?’ beau sets her tea down. lifts a shaking hand to her head, scratches at the shaggy undercut. ‘what?’

‘the boon i owe you. it is unfulfilled.’

‘I—first of all, you don’t owe us shit, of course we were gonna get you out of there, and second—‘ beau hesitates.

‘second?’

‘i—you dont owe me shit,’

‘you already said that.’

‘but—me, i mean. i didn’t help.’

‘nonsense,’ zoelfir waves a hand dismissively. ‘you who found the maps to the sanctum? you who translated the writings in the tomes? who found the door?’

‘i didn’t help you, though,’

‘you are part and party to those who hit a little harder to that fucker,’ zoelfir tells her. ‘and it’s my boon to give, you don’t get to argue about that.’

for all their being probably well over five or six hundred years old, zoelfir sounds about two seconds from adding so there to the end of that announcement.

beau just shakes her head. ‘why didn’t—why not give me a boon then and there?’

‘one didn’t present itself.’ when it’s clear she doesn’t understand—because she doesn’t—zoelfir hums, trying to find the words. ‘the wizard,’

‘caleb.’

‘i could feel his connection with flame intensely. it was both fear and love, shame and desire. the boon showed itself to me easily. the healer,’

‘jester.’

‘was the same. well within my power to give. her love of cold and mischief...’ zoelfir purses their lips as if to whistle and a quick wind escapes them, slightly fogged, and whips through the room. yussa complains as his books and notes ruffle and rustle, shivering on the shelves, but makes no move to stop his friend. ‘the same too with the others. but you,’ zoelfir hums. ‘i don’t know what you want.’

beau doesn’t know whether to believe them or not, so she just sits with it. ‘can i ask for something?’

‘that’s not really how it works.’

‘oh.’

zoelfir smiles. ‘hence, why i wish to travel with you. to understand what would aid you.’

‘maybe some magic fuckin powers so i don’t let down my friends,’ beau mutters.

zoelfir’s eyes turn very cold and shrewd. ‘it is within my power,’ they tell her. ‘would you accept?’

she almost says yes. she almost does, but something in her revolts at the idea of being given something. her whole life she has fought and stolen and scrapped for everything she has and...

‘no,’ zoelfir says, agrees, sitting back in their chair with a nod. ‘you see? a tough nut to crack, you are.’

‘and i do not think these friends of yours would be half so pleased with their lot if you had not been with them, beauregard,’ yussa comments, having recovered from his minor spluttering fit with no apparent damage down to his fine robes. ‘you are remarkably clever. astute. i have been impressed by you.’

beau shrugs. as nice as it is for him to say it, he’s not the one she needs to hear it from. fuck, she’s not sure she needs to hear it from anyone; beau’s whole thing is truth, finding truth, and she knows the truth. she’s a simple magicless human, and her friends need more.

‘how soon can you send me to port domali?’

yussa hesitates. minutely, a fingernail scraping over the curling handle to his cup. ‘as soon as you wish to leave.’

‘now.’

‘now, then,’ yussa agrees, and zoelfir stands with them both. conjures a pack from somewhere and a slight walking stick. similar to beau’s staff but of a silvery wood. birch, maybe?

‘aesthetics,’ zoelfir says, rather delightedly. ‘shall we?’

#cr tag #prompt fill #tagging my stories

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yfere · 5 years

Text

I was worried before, about Caduceus and his push for the Kiln--but I’m not worried anymore. Because even if he isn’t right about the Kiln helping with the Laughing Hand, it doesn’t matter because what the Mighty Nein need desperately right now if they’re going to have a hope of remaining a unit, staying together to help each other, is a direction. They need a task and someone who is very sure of what that task should be, and thank all the gods that Caduceus is here to supply it.

I’m not sure if I’m imagining things, but I feel this is a crucial moment, because this business with the Bright Queen is the first time the Mighty Nein ever decided to stand for anything other than themselves and whatever seemed best to do at the time--the first time they’ve agreed, however tentatively, to have a Long Term Goal, and so to come up against such a hard failure so early in their exploration of Standing For Something rocks the group’s identity, calls into question what they’ve been doing with each other all this time and therefore invites them to question all the other doubts and concerns that would pull them away from continuing on with the Mighty Nein. It’s a very easy thing to push off these concerns when things are going well, but when they’re going badly?

It’s at this lull after failure that the party finally has to reckon with itself, and their decision to stay or go. Nott is going to decide in the next few days whether she’s going to stay with Yeza and Luc. Beau is finally going to have to reckon with Dairon, whom she has been avoiding all this time. Fjord has the option of leaving to finish what he started with Uk’otoa, pursuing the Wildmother, or abandoning it all entirely. And even though Caleb didn’t see Astrid slotted for execution this time, he has to confront the idea now that if he keeps on doing what he’s doing, she may very well be the next face he sees on the chopping block. He has to confront the idea that his actions may have killed her already.

But they’ve renewed their commitment to each other--Caleb sort of slaps himself around and instructs himself to focus on the group and their needs. Fjord at the very least feels his place is with the Mighty Nein now, the people who saved him when it would have made perfect sense not to. And Caduceus’ plan for the Mighty Nein and the Kiln is giving them a necessary scrap of hope and a mission for the future. I think I saw this most clearly while watching the conversation between Jester and the Traveler. Like the rest, Jester is having to grapple with her decision to adventure with these people--nearly drowning as she is in the hopelessness and sadness in her heart, in the world around her. The Traveler offers her a lifeline and a way out that’s separate from the Mighty Nein. He offers her a family, he promises her beauty in sadness and mischievousness together, he says there is an island with her people she can go to in a few months. There’s nothing saying Jester has to bring the Mighty Nein with her. But when he asks her what she wants, where she wants the gathering to be, she chooses Caduceus’ volcano, the place she’s already planned to go with her friends, her family. She’s chosen to include them, and included herself in the journey to the Kiln. That means a lot.

#critical role #cr spoilers #cr meta #not to mention caduceus really needs to finish his personal quest #I think I'm getting worse at writing as time goes on ack

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all-pacas · 5 years

Note

Top five or ten (whichever is easier) Nott moments!!

top fifty... also three people asked me this, i feel so known

“do you disengage?” “no.” everything in the last half hour of that episode. nott stone cold willing to die for jester, nott taking the flowers back because “they worked,” the full gamut.

half cheating but: jester stone cold returning the favor last week. travis thought it was a bad idea. laura doesn’t give a shit.

nott running after the gnoll cart in episode five. totally alone, totally without backup or a plan, totally almost got her killed. the first moment of her reckless bravery, which either works out well or terribly with no in between.

every single time nott forgets to check for traps. every one.

nott and keg and their story arc. nott continuing to try to make friends, the hilarity of how badly it goes, and the payoff of keg’s letter.

“he’s my boy.” nott in scrollgate was just. stone cold. she sees caleb and fjord go at it, she draws on fjord. caleb backs down but not her. the m9 try to turn her against caleb and she raises them instead: she’s not caleb’s little baby sister, he is hers, and they go the fuck through her. and then she storms downstairs and gives him the scroll. (on a meta level: according to liam, that’s also the moment that caleb realized he could trust her to have his back, unconditionally, no matter what.)

whenever nott and jester plan or execute a heist. god, these two are good together.

matt’s narration when nott goes in the ocean, water breathing. he mentions specifically that she holds her breath until she physically can’t; that it’s just like all her nightmares. sam doesn’t actually say anything; matt underlines it hard.

more meta than anything, but “edith, it’s me; where is my son?” the fucking TABLE. no one is breathing. but also, all of it. just the tension going up and up.

nott and the fire giants. again, the tension. nott doing nothing wrong and just the tension as she fails and falls. the mighty nein all rallying — everyone breaking character completely to work together to save her. nott walking across lava. nott being saved and immediately trying to shoot a giant because caleb is still out there.

nott, after being charmed by molly, returning to her room and asking caleb, as he wards it, if he trusts the others. he says no. she agrees. that’s it. it’s such a quiet, sad moment. especially because of how desperately nott wants to trust and make friends and be liked. “me neither.”

nott joking that she’s going to hook up with yeza asap, and then putting him to bed and going to sleep on the floor. just the saddest thing. she’s all bluster. of course she didn’t mean it. and yeza, of course, waking up and going to sleep by her.

nott casting message for the first time and and caleb losing his goddamn mind. nott casting message during the raid with the rug of smothering, just to inform fjord and molly that “we are the fucking best!”

despite their mutual animosity, nott immediately offering to help support and stand with molly when she learns his past. the retroactive awareness about just how deeply she must have identified with that story, if not his coping mechanisms.

in the gnoll mine, nott sees a young boy in danger and throws all safety to the wind to try and rescue him. she nearly gets him killed, but then stays with him until she can tell his mother he’s safe.

nott and caleb and kiri, looking for a lucky stone and talking about the past and names and yeza.

jester giving nott flowers in episode five, because they are friends. nott giving flowers to everyone she cares about.

nott!!!!

#nott the brave #excuse from a kind anon for me to tl;dr

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its-percival-not-percy · 5 years

Text

Whumptober Day 11

Cherik, actually. I’ll post the other stories here soon, since I started uploading on ao3 I start to feel a chaos and ... yeah. So, be patient with me. Whumptober Day 11 - stitches. Erik doesn’t have the best memories concerning needles.

"Erik! This is nonsense, come on!"

Because Raven died, Jeanne is gone, he failed, he lost them, couldn't protect either of them. He is impatient, nervous. Pissed. Worried. Worried as hell. And Erik is not reasonable. He knows he has his boundaries, but the helmet is gone, he can feel him being in pain. He is also not blind, the blood is also visible on the shirt as a wet stain. On Erik's hands and he really, really badly wants to ust knock him out and make Hank look at this, but no, of course he won't do that. But Jeanne hit Erik with… something and it's a miracle that Erik is still on his feet somehow, pure stubbornness keeping him upright.

"I can fend for myself - care for your students, Charles, I am not one of them!"

"Yes, I know, because the are reasonable, I can talk to them if they're doing something stupid Also, they really know when they're bleeding out, Erik!"

"Charles, I am not bleeding out, it's a scratch and-" Whatever he wants to say next gets cut off as Adrenalin, stubbornness or whatever else kept him upright this long leaves abruptly and his posture falters. His shoulders slumping and he has to steady himself against the wall, sitting down on the stones of the broken building a second later.

Charles swallow a comment as a wave washes over him. Erik isn’t stubborn. He is scared. He doesn’t know if this is worse, but he wheels himself closer.

"I-" He corrects himself immediately. "We, we just lost Raven. Jeanne. Please, don't make me lose you too. I know… I can feel that you are scared…" He wants to grab the hand that Erik is not currently pressing to his side, but he doesn't, catching himself as the thought crosses his mind. The next moment he is not sure if it is his own.

"I don't have to look into your head, Erik. I can feel your pain without, I can see it. Let me… Just please, let us help. I won't make you do anything. But you're hurt and…" There is a silent I love you on his lips and he let's it stay there. It was too long ago. Erik had had a family in between, a life. It had been years since they even saw each other. He couldn't expect anything now. Not after all that happened, happened today. The are both hurt, tired, he can't bring him into this situation now.

He hopes but doesn't expect the look of silent defeat on Erik's face and just nods. It's difficult for him to admit, and he knows from before that he doesn't deal well with being hurt. Worse than- no.

He calls Hank over who gently lifts the shirt while Erik looks away, stiff as a wooden board he sits there on the stones, eyes open but far away.

"I need to stitch this up and get a look at it properly, preferably in the manson. I'll give you something for the pain and-"

"I'm fine. Save it for the others. Just put a bandage on it and I'll be fine." Charles groans and Hank shoots him a look.

"No way. This is serious - I'm serious. You can bleed out from this or get an infection, this already looks bad."

"Erik!" I don't want to lose you too. I can't lose you too. I just can't.

"No painkillers. Charles?" He pushes himself up where Hank has to steady him a moment later, carefully bringing one arm over his shoulder. It would be a victory that he let's him help, that they are allowed to touch him, but Charles doesn't feel that way. He is too worried, too tired, too hurt and he has too many thoughts in his head to feel more than a silent wave of relief. His own thank you echoes in his head. Stubbornness may have saved Eriks life multiple times, but here, home, with Charles he still thinks it necessary, and Charles doesn’t want to imagine why. The helmet was just a different kind of mask, and now, right here, there is none. He stays away from his feelings, but he still gets them. There will be time for that later, he hopes, later, when everything is over. When they both had some rest they could talk. He wants to convince Erik to stay, this time. Just for a while. He had tried that many times over the last years, but everytime Erik left. He tries not to remember Cuba too vivid.

He is not prepared of what follows.

It’s the bloodloss, that triggers it. They are in the plane and Charles keeps tabs on everyone. And everyone is just as tired as he is. But the steady flow of thoughts that surrounds him like background noise he doesn’t have to listen into is wrong, suddenly. A deep wrong feeling is all he gets as he concentrates on the person near the wall, sitting half slumped against a box of medical supplies. When was the last time he saw him sleeping? He tries to remember and nearly fails. So long ago when they were both different people. Before Cuba. There is one memory, after the whole ordeal with apocalypse, when Erik calmed down from what Hank had called his “metal trip”, when Erik all but collapsed on their way home, but it had been different. It wasn’t sleep. He looked pale and clammy, his skin nearly transparent, shadows under his eyes and unmoving - it hits him a second later. Just like now.

“Erik?” He tries, verbal, sitting up straighter from his own spot on the floor, with a sponsored blanket far more comfortable than any seat as he really just felt like lying down.

There is no answer, and he reaches out to a muddled confusion he doesn’t dare to disturb as exhausted as he is. Eriks thoughts tend to overwhelm him when he is not careful, in a way he doesn’t completely understand. Not even after all this time.

He drags himself to the other side of their area, a few feet only, his blanket in tow without realizing it.

“Erik!” He grabs his hand. Cold. “No no no… Erik, come on, open your eyes!” He gets a silent grunt in return but nothing more. Hank! I need you back here, it’s Erik! It takes him only a moment to spot the red that seeped into Eriks trousers and dripped to the floor where the boxes are. Hank slithers to the floor next to them and puts a hand on his pulse. It unnecessary to look at the wound now that they can both see the blood, but Charles still has to swallow and close his eyes for a moment. He should have insisted, right the moment it became clear that Erik was very much not fine. Not… let him have his will and get a bandage and just sit down in the plane until they are back at the manson.

“He’s lost too much blood, I need to stitch this up.” Hank is already moving, grabbing the blanket from Charles, who tries his best to help move Erik entirely to the floor. He has Eriks head on his knees and leans against the wall himself for support. He watches Hank preparing a needle and cleaning the wound, as suddenly, the man in his lap twitches. Just a bit, his head moving, his eyes struggling to open. Hank pays this no mind and Charles wants to move his arms to keep Erik down if it comes to it, but his eyes stay closed and he… talks.

“Nein, lass das…” Charles doesn’t understand a word, but he also doesn’t have to. He is only half conscious, laying here, vulnerable. God knows what he things where he is. What memory this brings back.

“Erik, It’s okay. You are safe, Hank needs to take a quick look at your wound.”

“Ich habe- ich kann es doch nicht. Ich kann es nicht, es tut mir leid aber-” He stops and begins moving more.

“Lass mich!” and then, much quieter. “Bitte…” Charles feels bile rising up in his throat. He doesn’t need to know what he is saying, he doesn’t need any confirmation. He gets it without a word in his language. He feels it in a wave of thoughts and feelings. Loss, dread, shame and he stops counting it after it. He leans forward and puts both hands on Eriks shoulders, one to keep him down and second to lean his forehead against his. I’m here. God Erik I’m here, it’s okay…He swallows hard. Erik is still here. He has to tell this to himself multiple times, after- after-

There is no response as Erik is too far gone.

It is… not pretty. The thrashing and talking, becoming quiet murmurs and tears when Charles forced Erik to lay still, tears in his own face, Hanks tight and his eyes keeping on the wound. It only takes minutes, but it could be hours and Charles wouldn’t know the difference. Erik is sobbing in his leg when Hank finally puts the needle away. Charles doesn’t want to know what he says or thinks, keeps up his own shields and tries to keep away as far as possible. He has to, or the emotions would overwhelm him again as they nearly did before. It’s different with Erik, it always has been, and he doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad thing. He strokes strands of wet hair away from Eriks forehead, cleans his face to wipe the tears away. Hank does… something, talks about fluids and how Erik needs a transfusion when they are home, but Charles only nods and listens with less attention than he gives Eriks face. His eyes are screwed shut, still, and the tears keep coming even now. It hurts, it hurts him on a deep level he can’t explain. From long ago, when they were still sitting on the stairs and playing chess. Nothing was okay or easy back then, but they were still together and…

He reaches out a mental hand, careful and softly. He doesn’t want to scare him, or trigger the wave of memories that he can feel are just held back by pure stubbornness.

I’m here, Erik. You can relax now, I’ve got you. It takes a moment. Two, until there is a slight, quiet and careful reply. Just a thought, manifesting out of the chaos. It’s like the day they met, underwater. When he saved his life.

Charles? Charles, I can’t- He can’t move, can’t control the pain, can’t do anything, Charles saw to that. And it pains him that it is better that way.

It’s okay. Please rest, we’ll talk later. Much later. Much later he hopes.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations:

“No, don’t”

“I have- I can’t do it. I can’t do it, I’m sorry, but-”

“Leave me! … Please…”

#whumptober 2019 #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #hank mccoy #stitches #whump prompts #whump fanfiction #cherik fanfiction #erik whump

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